


I've been compromised

by denyingmyselfalways



Series: I didn't ask to be made [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Like, Mental Scarring, Minor Violence, Natasha Feels, Nightmares, Red Room (Marvel), So much angst, self-hate (ish), she deserves so much more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 14:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15511761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denyingmyselfalways/pseuds/denyingmyselfalways
Summary: Nat tried to hide her shaking breath, but Madame B. noticed. She always noticed. “Are you nervous my little spider?”“No.”“Do not lie to me.”“I am not nervous. I am nothing.”Madame B. was silent for a moment. “Perfect.”





	I've been compromised

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry. I'm just... so sorry.

_“You’ll break them.”_

_“Only the breakable ones. You are made of marble.”_

“Again.”

The only sound was the shuffling of feet and the whispers of the mistresses.

“Again.”

The same steps. Over and over and over again. Natasha tried in vain to still her feet and hands from doing the same exercises she’d done for years, but she couldn’t stop. If she did, she would be punished. So, she kept in time with them. Twirling across the floor with a precision none of the others could quite replicate. They hated her for it. Envied her because she was the favorite.

She envied them because they were not.

“Natasha.”

She snapped back into reality, freezing halfway through her pirouette.

“You are distracted today.” Madame B. drawled. Then she turned to the others. “Leave us.”

The other girls did not smile. But Natasha could feel their cold amusement seeping into her bones, as they slid past her and followed the other mistresses out. She unfroze, relaxing her muscles and staring at the ground.

“Look me. Do not lower your gaze.”

Nat’s half-glare clashed with Madame B’s. Silence.

“What is on your mind today, child?”

Natasha may have scoffed at her motherly tone if she hadn’t known what the consequences were for doing just that. “Nothing of importance.”

“And will you continue to be distracted today?”

“No.”

“No, Madame.”

“No, Madame.”

“Good. It is time for your combat routine.” Madame B. gestured towards a man standing in the corner. He gave a quiet bow and exited.

Nat tried to hide her shaking breath, but Madame B. noticed. She always noticed. “Are you nervous my little spider?”

“No.”

“Do not lie to me.”

“I am not nervous. I am nothing.”

Madame B. was silent for a moment. “Perfect.”

_“I’ve got red in my ledger. I’d like to wipe it out.”_

The man reentered with a girl one year younger than Natasha. Her name was Yvette. She was from France and had been taken at age three after showing promise. Natasha had once felt bad for her until she’d broken Nat’s nose during training. Now all she felt was cold indifference.

Yvette walked towards Natasha until they were only a foot away from each other, neither breaking their stare.

“You shall not hesitate, overthink, or second-guess yourself,” Madame B. recited. “You are a weapon. You are nothing.”

“I am nothing,” both girls murmured.

“Begin.”

Yvette lunged at Natasha, who in turn, spun out of the way, kicking her legs out from under her as she passed. As she fell, she twisted in midair and landed on her back, rolling out of the way as Nat’s hand went for her neck. Nat also rolled, coming up into a defensive position.

Yvette, true to character, didn’t hesitate.

Punch. Block.

Jab. Parry.

Nat took a hit to the jaw, giving herself the time to slide under Yvette’s legs and grab her ankles. Yvette fell, hitting her head on the floor with a sickening crack.

Natasha’s body stalled for half a second, but it was enough time for Yvette to scramble to her feet and come at her again. Natasha twisted, jumping up and locking her legs around Yvette’s head, pulling her to the ground with their momentum. Yvette yanked at Nat’s thighs, but Natasha wouldn’t yield, slamming her elbow into the girl’s skull once, twice, three times before she eventually got her off. Yvette tried to roll away, but Natasha lunged again grabbing her shoulder in one hand and wrist in another. She pulled the younger girl to her feet and twisted her wrist, ignoring the grunts of pain as her arm cracked. Yvette swept her feet under Nat, and she fell, but she caught herself and flipped back up, grabbing Yvette’s non-broken arm, and slammed her fist into her stomach repeatedly.

Yvette grunted, stopping Nat’s fist with her broken arm. She screamed in pain, in anger, in annoyance, Natasha didn’t know, but she twisted her other wrist out of Nat’s grasp and slamming it into her throat. Nat choked, backing up until her back collided into a wall, but Yvette was relentless. She gasped for air, ripping her hand away and shoving at her chest until Yvette stumbled back enough for Nat to slip away.

Running at the girl, she jumped and grabbed her neck with her legs, turning until she was practically sitting on her shoulders. Nat's hands were a vice on both sides of Yvette’s head, looking up at Madame B. as the younger girl tried in vain to rip her off.

Madame B. said nothing, just raised an eyebrow.

_“You will not hesitate, overthink, or second-guess yourself. You are a weapon. You are nothing.”_

“I am nothing,” Natasha murmured, not even taking one last look at the girl beneath her as she twisted her arms and they both fell.

The murdered and the murderer.

Madame B. smiled.

_“Can you? Can you wipe out that much red? Your ledger is dripping. It’s gushing red. And you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything?”_

Nat’s eyes flew open.

She didn’t sit up or gasp or scream. That would surely wake someone in the compound up, and she didn’t want that.

She was used to the nightmares. They haunted her most nights. That was one thing the Red Room couldn’t control. Her thoughts in the dead of night when no one was watching. Even handcuffed to her bedpost to prevent escape, she dreamed of better days. Days when she would be free to do what she wanted. She let her eyes adjust to the dark room until she could make out even the fine print on the can of deodorant sitting on her nightstand.

Was this freedom?

A single tear escaped the prison of her tear ducts, but only one. She only ever allowed herself one.

For even if she saved the world a hundred times over, her nightmares would keep her bondage much more efficiently than any handcuffs ever could.

Because despite all this. Despite everything that Steve, and Clint, and Tony, and Bruce had given her. Despite what every single one of them had given her, a small part of her would always be the Red Room’s creation.

_“Who do you want me to be?”_

_“How ‘bout a friend?”_

_“There’s a chance you might be in the wrong business, Rogers.”_

A monster.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is appreciated, thank you!


End file.
